


Things Left Unsaid

by calenhads



Category: Days Gone (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Like...angst...I guess..., Self indulgent really, anyone know what a summary is bc i don't!, spoilers for the game if you haven't made it to act II, what is this??? i don't know????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 07:31:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19146391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calenhads/pseuds/calenhads
Summary: She hadn’t heard that voice in over a month since she and Deacon left Lost Lake behind on what was starting to look more and more like a suicide mission than a rescue. Day after day they lied and schemed their way through the local militia, doing their bidding and getting little in return for it. She wanted to go back. She wanted to go home; she wanted to go back to him.





	Things Left Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> More really self indulgent trash from yours truly! Spoilers for the game if you haven't made it to Act II. Features (1) of my Days Gone original characters and Boozer since the fool doesn't get enough love. But, that's just my onion! Had this in the recycle bin, but, decided I wanted to annoy anyone that may come across it :)

“Wait,” Maeve eyed the creaking structure looming above them. The light breeze they had had earlier bringing relief on the unusually warm day for that time of year had since turned harsher, dark clouds and the promise of nasty weather to follow suit. “Up there?”

She dared a glance at the man that stood next to her, fiddling with the radio in his hands. He turned the knobs once, twice, three times with a frown; nothing but static hissed though the speakers and she shivered, only partly because of the cold. Sound carries. The last thing they needed was a swarm or a passing horde to catch wind of them.

“Yeah,” Deacon frowned again, lifting a hand as if threatening to beat the object into submission. The walkie in his hand whizzed to life, still full of static, but the green light atop indicated that it was in fact connected and waiting to be used. “Only place around here you can get a signal.”

Without a second glance she returned her eyes to the radio tower they were standing under. Looking up from below made her throat dry and hands sweat; this thing looked like it could collapse at any moment. It creaked again, rusting bolts and joints and ill maintained metal singing in the breeze.

“ _All_ the way up there?”

Maeve took the radio from Deacon without looking, eyes trained on nothing but the labyrinth of bars that ascended into the grey sky above. She half wondered if the wind would feel even worse up there? Or perhaps it was calmer. Perhaps it would be a slice of heaven, to be all the up there all alone; above friend and foe alike. A fluttering she hadn’t felt in ages settled in her gut; _just like flying._   

“Wait,” Maeve resisted to roll her eyes at the hint of amusement in Deacon’s voice. “Wait… are you _afraid_ of heights?”

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Wouldn’t look at him and admit that , yes, heights were always something that made her a tad uneasy. It had always made her gut twist and turn and her head feel like a balloon. Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth she shrugged, a huff escaping her lips as the drifter barked at her reaction, his laughing carrying in the breeze.  

“A pilot that’s afraid of heights.” He sniggered under his breath, shaking his head as if the very notion that someone like her would have a fear so common was the funniest thing he’d ever heard of. Humor was scarce in his world now, perhaps it _was_ the funniest thing either of them had ever heard for a time.

“If you haven’t noticed, Deacon.” She punctuated his name with a tone harsher than she’d intended, a bite but not without a pinch of amusement. “I’ve been grounded for a bit.”

The drifter grinned at her choice of words, leaning against one of the metal legs of the structure he crossed his arms, the DCM band on his arm fully visible, nearly matching the one that she wore on her own body. She was prepared for another comment; a joke, a remark, something. Perhaps she wasn’t preparing, but rather hoping for another bout of distractions, anything to keep her mind off of why they were here.

“Go on,” he gestured towards the ladder with a nod of his head. His tone nor his features held a hint of mischief any longer. “I’ll keep watch down here.”

 

The ascent was maddening. No matter how many times she flexed her half frozen fingers to urge life back into them they still sweat and slipped on the cold, rusting metal. _Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look – oh fuck_. The mantra was interrupted after every rung she climbed. Deacon’s form becoming something of a speck as she continued to climb further and further into the sky. It seemed endless as she neared the top and the wind howled, the singing of the structure louder than before and she wished she had of pulled her hair back tighter, the breeze caressed and threw overgrown tresses into her eyes constantly.

By the time she reached the top she was sure she was drenched in sweat; her mind soared and felt heavy all at once, her fingers cramped, seemingly stuck in a gripping position, the fingers curling around an imaginary object. She stood still for a moment, gathering her footing after being weightless for what felt like a lifetime. When she finally found the courage to turn and survey the landscape below and in front of her she smiled; _what a view._

It was paradise compared to the views she was used to seeing before heading south at Boozer’s behest. She could see for miles up here; nothing but trees, unfamiliar roads congested with rusting and ransacked vehicles. She even swore she could see the occasional deer or group of swarmers running about. The mountains ahead were peaked with snow, the sky behind them dark and heavy with pillowing clouds signaling the incoming weather. It looked like a painting, the very definition of beautiful but dangerous.

Digging the walkie from the pocket of her jacket she held it in her hands, cradling it like a newborn babe. The object felt heavier than normal in her hands and she fiddled with the button, contemplating on abandoning this stupid “mission” of hers, crawling back down that ladder in shame and handing it back to Deacon without another word. She shook her head at the very thought. There was nothing to be nervous about, absolutely nothing at all.

Looking across the land, focusing on everything except the black metal and plastic device held to her lips she pressed the call button, listening to the static intently.

“Maeve to Lost Lake, come in.” she held her breath, the other end silent. So silent that the world around her sounded incredibly loud. Every creak, every rustle of the pines below, every groan the structure made as the wind sailed though it’s frame; it reverberated in her skull, the only thing drowning it out was the constant thump of her heart in her ears. Maeve shifted from one foot to the other anxiously; _pick up, pick up, pick up_ –

“Anyone there? Maeve to- “

“Maeve?” her heart leapt, voice catching in her throat as a male voice wafted through the speakers. Her shoulders slumped with ease. She hadn’t heard that voice in over a month since she and Deacon left Lost Lake behind on what was starting to look more and more like a suicide mission than a rescue. Day after day they lied and schemed their way though the local militia, doing their bidding and getting little in return for it. She wanted to go back. She wanted to go home; she wanted to go back to him.

“Holy shit, Maeve.” She did something she hadn’t done in a long time; she smiled. Boozer sounded excited, relived even. She opened her mouth to reply when the walkie clicked again, the voice on the other end developing a hint of concern just as quickly as it had expressed happiness.

“Wait – is Deacon ok? Where is he.” The woman frowned for a moment, annoyance seeping into her coming reply until she remembered she was using the drifter’s walkie. She would have used her own but the chances of the militia finding out were too great, she couldn’t take the risk.

“He’s fine.” She replied rather quickly, shifting in place and catching herself as she placed a hand on the cold railing of the tower’s maintenance platform to steady herself. “Borrowing his radio is all.”

She can hear him sigh in relief on the other end and she allows herself to do the same, leaning against the railing and pulling back just as quickly as she dared to glance down at the ground below. She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying her breathing.

“I just uh- “Her fingers rubbed at her temples as she ran over the words in her head.

She had rehearsed this as soon as Deacon offered to bring her here so she could talk to _him_. They had gone nearly a _year_ without talking to one another before. She had had no problem barging in on him while he was in the infirmary back at Lost Lake. Throwing accusations and the like around like confetti, not realizing the grave danger he was in. Not realizing his days were numbered and that her yelling may be the last thing of her he would remember.

Time changes people…and they were no exception.

“I Just wanted to see – “ _you fool_ , she scolded herself. She could faintly make out Boozer’s voice on the other end, he sounded like he was laughing. “Well not see, but” she trailed off and mentally reprimanded herself, looking u towards the sky for guidance, anything to help get through this exchange.

She had never felt this foolish around _anyone_.

Then again, her childhood and much of her adulthood had been fraught with quick hellos and quick goodbyes; there were no conversations in between. Growing up a military brat she never made many friends, no deep connections with people knowing she would have to leave in a few months and start the process over again. Lost Lake…it had been the only constant she ever had.

“I wanted to check on you – check on you guys.” She corrected herself rather slowly and looked towards the horizon again, noting the clouds and how they tumbled overhead. Piling across the otherwise barren sky and clumping together, heavy with rain or snow she wasn’t sure.

Boozer’s laugh roused her from her observation; it was soft. She didn’t think a man as big as him could ever sound so gentle. His voice was naturally harsh, so much so that even the most lighthearted statement sounded more like a command or a criticism to untrained ears.

“It’s good. Staying out of trouble,” she rolled her eyes, at the way he laughed again, letting her know he knew what she meant. “Mostly, at least.”

Before she could answer he was already talking again; she didn’t mind she missed his voice. The breeze chilled her to the bone, and she wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. The gesture falling on deaf ears as the wind blew it out of place again.

“And before you ask, yes, the Seabird is fine.”

Maeve grinned gently.

The Seabird. _Their_ project. Their – her ticket out of that place. Her ticket to exploring just what kind of world lay beyond Oregon and it’s sleepy freaker infested towns.

It was nothing but a seaplane used for both commercial tours of Farewell and the surrounding areas and for the owner’s leisure; she’s sure of that from the amount of old beer cans she found piled in the back of the small craft when they came upon it. It needed some work. But she would fly one day, they were going to make sure of that come hell or high water.

“Haven’t let a soul touch her.”

“Oh? Well if that’s the case.” She trailed off, tugging her lower lip between her chattering teeth once more.

“Figured that’s what you were really checking on.” She could hear the playfulness in his voice again and the simmering in the pit of her stomach spread throughout her body; traveling to the tips of her fingers and toes, seating itself in her chest.

“That’s all I needed to know.” She cleared her throat and walked the length of the platform, holding one hand out to catch herself as she continued to glance down; she would never learn. “Maeve out.”

She was deathly silently before she heard Boozer’s booming laugher from the other end. She allowed a smile to grace her own lips before she let a laugh burst from her lungs as well, the two of their voices mingling together.

She could almost picture Boozer now. In fact she did; she him sitting outside of his shack, tools in hand as he worked on a bike he could no longer ride, Jack not far behind. She felt for him. She understood the bond the MC created for him, the freedom the bike gave him and his brother in arms on the “broken road” as they liked to call it.

The way he looked at that hunk of metal and gears wasn’t lost on her; it was the same way she looked at that plane of hers.

It was freedom in its purest form.

“I’ve missed that lau –“ Maeve was pulled from her thoughts by the garbled words, a hot blush rising to her cheeks. Maybe she had heard wrong. “Jack! Get down. Sorry.”

“Let me say hi.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She turned her attention the horizon once more, the clouds growing closer, the sky darkening and the wind becoming even more bitter with each passing moment.

“To the dog?” he sounded genuinely surprised, maybe even a bit confused.

“Yes, the dog. Put him on.”

The little runt barking on the other end had stolen their hearts the second Deacon brought him into camp. It was supposed to make Boozer feel good, to give him something to live for. Something to take care of and watch grow and survive.

“Com here boy. Alright he’s…listening?”

The statement sounded more like a question to hear ears and she let loose the most embarrassing voice she could muster. A voice that Boozer had only heard a handful times if he was intruding on she and Jack’s playtime.

“Hey, Jack! Hey buddy-“ she cooed, almost as if she was talking to a child.

The dog on the other end barked, static cutting through the sound, letting her know that they didn’t have much time left. The storm moving in would make sure of that.

“Alright, alright. Get down, go play.” She listened as Boozer shooed the pup away on the other end, only to be met with another high-pitched bark.

Maeve glanced down again. Deacon has moved to the end of the small cliff that the radio tower sat atop, body turned towards the incoming storm as well. She couldn’t top the disappointment that coursed though he veins. They’d be getting a call from the Colonel soon; he’d want them back. To hunker down and ride out whatever was coming their way.

_You don’t know when you’ll get this chance again. Tell him._

“You should see how big he’s getting.” The man on the other end marveled, pulling her from her thoughts again.

“Wish I could.”

A heavy silence hung between them now. So silent that she could without a doubt hear the awakening freaks that were close by, a distant rumble of thumber that rattles in her bones and sends her shifting from one foot to the other. _Left right, left, right, left, right_.

One of them has to say something. _Needs_ to say something.

“Deek says you guys should be back soon” It’s a quiet remark, so quiet that she almost doesn’t make out what he said.

She wants to go back. More than anything she wants to get on that dingy bike she and Rikki fixed up, throw up both birds, and sail though the pass they once thought destroyed for good. She wants nothing more than to return to the cabin on the lake she calls home. Back to company of someone she had fallen in love with –

“Or hopefully. I don’t know.” Maeve listens intently, holding her breath for a beat or two. “Maybe I’m hearing what I want to hear.”

She doesn’t stop herself as her lips move, knuckles white as she holds down the button on the failing walkie. The once constant green light on the top flickers rapidly, the signal growing weaker.

If it could hold out for a moment or two more, she could tell him; tell him how much she missed him, how she’s _always_ missed him. How she missed him a year ago and she misses him even more now. To be taken from each other so soon after reuniting was cruel.

They hadn’t ended on good terms when Deacon and Mike fell though, they were loyal to different people. Loyalty meant everything to the two of them; they both understood that. They had to be loyal to each other, to themselves, but most importantly, to the people that had made sure they made it as far as they did.

Ever since that day there had been a hole in her chest where he had carved his way in. He left it gaping when he followed Deacon out of the gates and she tried everything in her power to patch it with feigned hatred and disappointment. Running a hand down her face she remembered him lying in that infirmary again; how weak and unlike the Boozer she once knew he had been, each word from his lips was slurred.

Yet, she had sat with him when he asked, held his hand when he reached for hers, and lied to him when he wanted to give up.

Her heart was as patched as a third grade paper mâché project, full of holes and cracks and spaces that oozed like old wounds reopened now.

“If I could come back right now…I would.”

She swears she hears a please on the other end of the line. A whisper so soft it sounded like the ghost of a statement, a figment of her imagined.

_Maybe I’m hearing what I want to hear._

“Deek needs you.” The reply sounds forced and she lets her eyes close for a moment, pushing the lump that had formed in her throat down and the tears that prickled at her eyes away.

“Who else is going to keep his ass out of trouble?”

She allowed herself a small smile then; he was right about that…and that’s why he had all but _begged_ her to accompany the drifter this far South.

“Listen – “ His voice was cut short by another, barely recognizable on her end as the static grew more prevalent. She scanned the horizon again, the clouds were nearly on them now. The air around her turning from cold to downright freezing, small flurries fell from the sky as she looked upwards, a few melting on her tender cheeks.

_“Yeah, Rikki, relax I’ll – I’ll be there in a minute, alright.”_

He was about to say goodbye. Her heart hammered against her chest, flakes melting on her heated skin. She could faintly make out Deacon’s voice below, but what he was saying was beyond her realm of hearing. She guesses he wants her to wrap it up, to say her peace and come back down to reality. Getting caught in a storm like this, especially this late in the day would be a death sentence.

“Sorry, Maeve.”

“No, you better go. You know how Rikki gets.”

He chuckles softly before sighing and she closes her eyes for the thousandth time, if she did that it was like he was right in front of her. She could see and almost feel him as clear as day.

“It was – it was good to heart your voice. I needed it.”

_I needed it._

The heavier the flakes fell the faster they melted on her skin, nearly soaking through the militia issued jacket she had pulled tighter around her. Maybe that was all she needed, maybe she didn’t need to say anything; she just needed to _hear_ it. To hear that the missed her as much as she missed him. That she was on his mind as often as he was on hers. It was something so simple, so mundane, yet, it made all the difference to her.

“Be careful.” She found herself saying, moving around the platform towards the treacherous ladder once again, the metal turning white as the flakes began to stick. He chuckled one last time, the hearty sound cutting through the static like a knife.

“I will. Just lending a hand where it’s needed.”

More amputation jokes, he was full of them since losing the appendage.

Her teeth chattered as she grinned one last time stopping just before where the platform opened, and the ladder descended into the ground below. Taking a deep breath, she ignored the flashing green light, speaking through the static even as she heard his voice asking if she was still there.

“Hey, and Boozer I- “

Her window of opportunity had shut.

Static over took the device as she lifted her finger from the button, the world around her going silent aside from the familiar revving of a engine below her and the howling of the wind as it picked up, flurries swirling around her as if they were in a snow globe shaken by an excited child. If it wasn’t for the constant threat of being eaten, she would say it was beautiful.

“Miss you.” She spoke the final words into the quiet device.

She had no one to blame but herself for this missed opportunity, she had squandered it, like so many other opportunities before.

With one final look over the darkening and snowy horizon she began to make a careful descent to the bottom of the structure, Deacon’s walkie tucked safely into the breast of her jacket, fingers clutched tightly around metal and feet moving carefully; _one two, one two, one two_.

**_Perhaps things left unsaid were better._ **

What she wanted to say sounded like a goodbye, and she’s not very good with goodbyes.

 


End file.
